Charmer Earned His Place
written by: Johnch
“You little bastard Charmer, caught you stealing from the dead,” shrieked Cinder Devilinn.
“You bitch,” he shouted back, “just because I got here first, I know you have been taking all of the jewellery for years.”
“I only hired you to sweep up ashes that fell from the oven, not take what is mine.”
With that, Cinder lifted the poker and hit Charmer right between the eyes. Then, with much grunting and groaning, lifted him into the oven, placing him next to the coffin, ready for a slow burn funeral.
“Morning, Miss. I am Inspector Credulous from the Staffordshire Police. I wish to speak to the owner of this business.”
“Welcome to the ‘We burn for you crematorium.’ May I ask what it’s about?” queried the receptionist.
“What is your name Miss,” I asked ignoring her question.
With a nervous stammer replied, “Crimson Inall, most people shorten my name and just call me Crim.”
“I am here to enquire about one of your employees. A Mr. Watt A Charmer.”
“Wait, and I will let the boss know you are here. Do you have a card?”
“Yes,” I said, handing over my card.
As she left, he heard a slight giggle and louder laughter from within the room. I wondered why people laughed when I presented my card—after all, it just had my title and surname, “Inspector I. M. Credulous,” in bold print. My boss had given five hundred copies to me after promoting me from sergeant. Still, I digress from my tale.
A few moments later, a grinning woman entered the room. “Pleased to meet you, Inspector,” she said, offering her hand. She was about five foot six, dank hair, lipstick smeared inadequately across her thin lips, barely covering slightly green teeth, and shadows under her eyes that spoke of some sort of debauchery. A loose blouse that revealed more than it should—not a pretty sight—and a skirt that barely met the definition, hovering over pencil-thin legs. Yet somehow, her role as funeral director seemed to fit.
“My name is Cinder, Cinder Ella Devilinn. You can call me Cinder,” and stepping inn (yes, I meant that “inn”), close with a husky whisper that reeked of stale beer, garlic, and sex, said, “Some people call me Cin,” she said in a voice that oozed sexual invitation.
“Who else works here?” I asked, stepping back with just a hint of alacrity. Well, more than a hint.
“Well, there are my two sisters, Cru and Ella, but we call Ella ‘Fitz’ because she is always singing. Now, what can I help you with?”
“So you run the Crematorium?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you employ a Mr. Watt A Charmer?”
“Yes.”
“When did you last see him?”
On that, Cinder turned to the receptionist and asked, “oh that little thief, when did we fire Mr. Charmer?”
“Let’s see, that would have been on Thursday last week.”
“Mmm, that was the day he went missing,” I said.
“Oh,” said Cinder innocently.
Then Detective Sloth walked in. “Sir,” he said, “I have just found a shoe in Dith Lane, at the bottom of the steps leading to the river.”
“Oh? Was that all? No other clothes? A note in the shoe, a glass slipper perhaps?
Better organise a dive team, Sloth.”
“Shall I ask them to look for a pumpkin as well Sir,” Sloth asked.
“This is no place for jokes Sloth,” as I turned and said.
“Now, can I meet your two sisters, I hope you are not triplets?”
“We are not,” Cinder muttered, and then with a bright “Yes, but Fitz is busy preparing her song for the next funeral, it’s a jazzy piece with lots of triplets in it, but you can speak to Cru.” On that, she turned and yelled in a screeching way, “Cru, come here now!” Turned and smiled sweetly. “Would you like a drink while you wait? She shouldn’t be long,” then muttering quietly, “if she knows what’s good for her.”
“What song is she going to sing,” I asked while waiting.
“Oh I think it’s Disco Inferno,” said Cinder.
And in the background I could hear Sloth singing burn baby burn, I will have to talk to him about decorum when this case is finished.
A voice—that sort of voice that stands your hair on end in a nice way—came from behind. Startled, I turned to see a woman of sublime beauty, radiant smile that lit her eyes. “Yes, Cinder?” she said.
“The Inspector would like a word about Charmer. You know, the one you had a crush on, despite him being married.”
With that, Cru blushed, and now I was interested. Was Cru, despite her appearance, likely to kill a man she loved if he wouldn’t leave his wife? I pondered.
“Sloth,” I called, “I think we will take Miss Cru down to the station for further questioning. Oh, and gather all of the urns full of ashes since Charmer’s disappearance, and the records of funerals, please.” The gasp from Cinder was all I needed, and just as I was to include her in the arrests, she snarled,
“Come back with a warrant.”
Now I knew something was amiss.
“Sloth, arrest all of them now on suspicion of murder, then seal the place and place a guard till I can get the warrant.”
Cinder, her rage now apparent, said, “You can’t do that! We have funerals to prepare for.”
“The dead don’t care one way or another. They can wait a few days, or you can give me what I want now—voluntarily.”
“I’ll see you burn for this, Inspector.”
“What— in one of your ovens?” I asked.
Then as I led her away I muttered—“what a charmer.”— In time to Sloth’s slow footsteps.
NOTE:
Based on the Prompt – The Weight of a Shadow
- There is No Colour in Goodbye - May 19, 2025
- Charmer Earned His Place - April 18, 2025
- The Weight of a Shadow - March 19, 2025
